She sits alone,
In the dim light,
Book open on her lap,
Pictures stare at her,
Their blank expressions,
Rather unnerving.
Staring at one,
Of a little girl,
No more than three,
Sad little face,
Big blue eyes,
A tear rolling down her cheek.
Closing the book,
She stands and blinks,
The girls stands there,
Staring through her.
To the blade,
Her vengeful husband holds,
Slipping easily across her throat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
tammy, IKES...i mean YIKES! i liked this one also. and the ending really snuck (sneaked) up on me. pretty tricky. bri